


Acrylic

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: The Arts of Domesticity [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Chess, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective James Bond, Tiny Robots, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Whiskey & Scotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>James, c’mon mate</i>, the first one read.</p><p><i>You can’t seriously tell me you’re not bored too</i>, the second one read.</p><p>James quickly shot him a message back—<i>Not bored, get a hobby</i>—before looking back up at the screen. Holmes had moved his queen, and James frowned, unsure what Holmes was doing now. 'Have you been looking up chess strategies?'"</p><p>Things have been slow at MI6, and after Q leaves for work one night, Bond busies himself as best he can. Unfortunately, Alec's bored. Fortunately, when he inevitably shows up at Bond's apartment, he brings scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acrylic

**Author's Note:**

> I updated? Holy shit, call the press
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, you guys. I hope this is a satisfactory addition to the series!

James didn’t think of himself as a man who was easily bored. Boredom inevitably led to someone getting into trouble or worse, especially in his line of work. Boredom rarely struck him, but even when it did, his needs didn’t matter; there was usually some bigger work to be done, some larger sequence of events to be finalized. He was not usually bored, then, only focused and hardened to any distraction.

Q had a rather infuriating ability to take James’s world and twist it uncomfortably on its head.

James had been home for a week, and despite his reassuring Q that he had enough money to cover the rent until commissions picked back up again, Q insisted on keeping his job at that nameless bar he absconded to every evening.

“It’s good to keep up appearances,” Q had said, shrugging on a light jacket over his uniform—which still drove James to distraction, and kept him thinking on that night not too long ago—and shooting James a small smile. “After all, this is the first plebian job I’ll be putting on my résumé in a long time; I want my track record to be spotless when they call the manager for references.”

James resisted laughing, instead looking through his phone for any signs of life from MI6. Nothing so far. MI6 usually didn’t have many lulls in terms of things for double-o agents to do, but they happened on occasion. Boredom consumed him in a lazy sort of way, not burning at him like any urgent fire, so he was fine resting on his laurels until he was sent away again. For Alec, things didn’t work quite the same, and he’d received many texts along the lines of “Bored, please come kill me” in the past few days.

“Anything you need me to pick up on the way home?” Q asked, hovering by the door. James looked up at him, briefly admiring the wild curl of his hair and the gentle look in his eyes before shaking his head, looking back down at his phone. It buzzed with another text from Alec.

“I’m alright,” he replied, and Q nodded, opening the door.

“Wish me luck,” he said, and James shot him a cheeky grin.

“Good luck,” he replied. “Try not to get accosted by drunken coworkers again.”

Q narrowed his eyes at him, and James laughed, noticing the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips. “I’m leaving,” he said flatly, and James laughed louder as he closed the door.

The apartment immediately felt empty, as it usually did when Q left at about seven every night, but James had long since discovered the remedy for this. He rose to his feet from the couch, stretching, the bruises and burns from his previous escapades having faded from stinging pain to low, absent throbbing that he could easily ignore. Sighing gently into the apartment, he padded toward the kitchen, opening the cabinet nearest the archway to the kitchen and reaching, not for the tea kept on the top shelf, but for Holmes, who was nestled in the small ring in the middle of the roll of duct tape they kept there.

When he gently lifted the little bot, its optic sensor blinked, as if it was waking up. James didn’t understand how Q could’ve possibly taken scraps of metal and bits of code and created something so seemingly alive from it, but Holmes was living proof that Q’s profession was not as cold as it seemed.

As Holmes finally woke fully, he looked up at James, scanning his retina quickly with a very soothing little hum. “Hello, Holmes,” he murmured to his little companion, and Holmes actually seemed to brighten. James carried him in his open palm into the living room, setting him down gently on the coffee table before returning to his seat on the couch. “We’ve been left to our own devices again tonight,” he said, and Holmes blinked benignly, which James had begun taking as a sign that the little bot understood. “Do you want to play another game of chess?”

James had learned not too long ago that Holmes’s wi-fi capabilities had stretched since his three-week sojourn to Syria, and now his low-level AI was capable of surfing the internet as he saw fit. Instead of using this new capability for more nefarious purposes, as Q had openly feared he would, James had instead made Holmes an account on a benevolent online game website and had since taken to playing competitive board games with him. Q had been exasperated when he found out, openly wondering why James coddled and played with Holmes so much, but the smile he’d caught when Q thought he wasn’t looking had made something in him swell fit to burst.

Q’s feigned exasperation had not deterred him from playing with Holmes, however, and he was pleased to note that Holmes was improving in the realm of strategy. He’d managed to beat James three times in the past seven games of chess, which wasn’t bad at all. He seemed to even enjoy playing chess, which of course made James want to indulge him. When he’d tried to move him on to Chinese Checkers, though, Holmes had been a little overwhelmed with the number of pieces and the seeming lack of rules, so they’d regressed back to chess once more.

At Holmes’s emphatic triple blink, James set up his laptop—his civilian one, of course; MI6 didn’t need to know that James played chess with a robot in his spare time—and quickly logged in, setting up a game and sending Holmes an invite. Within seconds, it was accepted, and the two began playing.

It was within the first two moves that James saw what Holmes was trying to do. “You cheeky little bugger,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as he moved a piece, successfully cutting off his Scholar’s Mate by bumping up his pawn to g6. “You almost had me there.” Holmes blinked rapidly in his equivalent of a laugh, and James’s grin grew.

His phone vibrated, and James sighed, reaching for it. It was another text from Alec, along with the one he’d gotten before Q had left. He flicked open the screen, deciding to humor him, and flipped through his messages.

 _James, c’mon mate_ ,the first one read.

 _You can’t seriously tell me you’re not bored too_ , the second one read.

James quickly shot him a message back— _Not bored, get a hobby_ —before looking back up at the screen. Holmes had moved his queen, and James frowned, unsure what Holmes was doing now. “Have you been looking up chess strategies?” he asked, but Holmes gave no answer. Probably had, the little cheater.

James’s phone vibrated again. He absently moved a pawn to free up his bishop, then looked at his phone.

You _get a hobby_ , Alec said.

_Come on. We can do something together._

_Maybe get drinks?_

James looked at Holmes, looking back at his screen. Holmes had moved another pawn, freeing his other bishop, and James at once grew wary. He was always tricky with the bishops. James put a knight on the offensive.

 _I’m in the middle of something_ , James replied.

The response was immediate. _Is it important?_

James sighed, watching as Holmes slid his newly freed bishop behind his pawn at e4. James moved his knight to a diagonal position from the bishop, hoping Holmes would fall for his trap.

 _It’s not MI6_ , James replied at length.

_Great. Then I’m coming over._

James glared at his phone’s screen. Glancing up at the laptop, James watched Holmes’s bishop slide in the opposite direction, coming to rest directly diagonal to James’s other knight.

“What are you up to?” he wondered aloud, before noticing he was at an impasse; lose the knight or lose the queen.

“Shit,” he murmured, deciding to leave the knight where he was, instead moving his other knight and putting Holmes’s king in check. Holmes’s king jumped out of the way. James moved a pawn forward, freeing his second bishop.

His phone buzzed again. _I’m bringing scotch._

James looked over to Holmes. “Looks like we’re having company, Holmes.”

Holmes blinked twice, then mercilessly destroyed James’s knight.

(~~~~)

When Alec arrived, being polite enough to knock on the door before simply entering, James had put Holmes in checkmate.

“What are you doing?” Alec asked, plopping down on the couch next to him, his bottle of scotch thumping heavily on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, examining the board. “Who are you playing chess with?”

“That little bot there,” James replied, gesturing to Holmes, who blinked. Alec leaned close to it, looking over it with a small smile, and Holmes scanned Alec’s retina. “His name is Holmes. He’s a bit of living recognition software.”

Alec laughed. “I take it the techno-whiz roommate came up with this?” he asked, and James nodded, smiling fondly at Holmes. The fact that he’d let James keep him and had made another prototype for the commission still made James happier than he should admit.

When he looked back at Alec, he was sitting up again and smiling a little mischievously, but it wasn’t unkind. “You’re completely gone over him, aren’t you?”

James deadpanned at once, looking back at the laptop screen. A rematch text box opened up. He looked at Holmes, who scanned Alec’s pant leg before blinking twice at him.

“I think Holmes wants to play a game of chess with you,” James said.

Alec laughed, rubbing his hands together and sliding over on the couch, situating himself at the laptop. “Who am I to reject a challenge?” he asked jovially, accepting the rematch request.

James rose, stretching again, smiling a little to himself. “Be careful with him. He’s a pretty crafty one,” he said, and Alec nodded to him. James clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get glasses for our scotch.”

“Thanks,” Alec replied, and James walked to the kitchen, searching around for their good glasses. He opened a few cabinets, rummaging around absently as he let his mind wander, inevitably coming to Q. He sighed a little, closing the cabinets under the cutlery and reaching up to open the ones above the counter. James wouldn’t say he was gone over Q, but then again, James also wouldn’t say he was a top operative at MI6, either. There were a lot of things James wouldn’t say, and he didn’t say them for a reason. Things like this had to be played close to the chest. Good things never lasted long to those in his profession, and Death seemed to take whatever it could find from men like him. That he’d even gotten this far with these good things in his life was more than he deserved, and certainly more than he was used to. Any idea of a domestic life beyond what he already had—and could that really even be called “domestic” anyhow?—was cast aside immediately as an impossibility. He wasn’t superstitious by any means, but he didn’t want to risk something that he knew would immediately come to mean a great deal to him. It was a real possibility.

He wouldn’t lie, especially not about this; he adored Q, and much more besides, though those words were somewhat forbidden in his mind and had gathered painful memories as a result of past mistakes. But if he were to allow himself this—assuming Q reciprocated—then he would be inviting even more danger into Q’s already dangerous life. Q’s staunch refusal to leave hadn’t helped matters much in that regard, either. James had ensured that break-ins never happened again with the help of MI6, but that was honestly the least of his worries. He knew more than Q the numerous possibilities that lay before them, and a majority of them were terrible and painful.

No, he thought, finally finding suitable glasses and setting them on the counter, moving toward the freezer to get some ice. Things were best left as they were. Perhaps then the charade could go on a little longer.

“What the fuck is that nonsense?” Alec’s voice carried from the living room, and James smiled, bringing the glasses with ice into the living room.

Alec’s face was one of complete shock, his mouth open and his hands frozen on the laptop. James set their glasses down, working on opening the scotch and peeking at the laptop screen. “Ah,” he said, pouring some for Alec and passing it to him. “Holmes is fond of Scholar’s Mate. You should’ve seen it coming.”

“I don’t play chess for fun like you do, James,” Alec replied, taking his glass and sipping the scotch. “And it’s not like I know this robot half as well as you do. How on earth was I supposed to see that coming?”

“Well, Scholar’s Mate is commonly known as a beginner’s move,” James said, and Alec swatted at him, causing him to laugh. Holmes was blinking rapidly, laughing along with him. “I guess he was just testing you out to see what you knew.”

“Oh, so he’s testing me, is he?” Alec asked, grinning at Holmes. “You’re on,” he said, taking a large sip of scotch and putting the glass down with a loud tap. James laughed, sipping his own scotch, settling in next to Alec to watch the new game unfold.

(~~~~)

Several hours later, the score was one to six in favor of Holmes. James would have been surprised at this in any other circumstance, considering Alec was an impeccably fast learner and an excellent strategist, but Holmes’s sobriety won out over the pair’s increasing levels of intoxication. As it was, the last battle had stretched out valiantly and both sides had fought hard, but in the end, Holmes had trapped Alec’s king in a corner and declared checkmate.

“How the fuck,” Alec said, and James smiled into his scotch, noticing with no small amount of sadness that the bottle Alec had brought was nearly empty.

Alec turned to Holmes and grinned at him. “You’re much smarter than you let on, you cheeky little thing,” he said fondly, and Holmes blinked three times. His blinks were a little slow, though, so James set his glass down and reached for him.

“What’s it?” Alec asked as James carefully examined him.

“His battery’s running low,” James replied, pushing himself off the couch and carefully carrying him to the kitchen. “I’m going to plug him back in.”

“Good night, little Holmes!” Alec called after them, and Holmes blinked again, James smiling at him. He opened his cabinet and settled him into his duct tape circle, finding the small wire Q had run through the cabinet—really, he went through a lot of work just to put the tiny thing in time out—and gently plugging it in. Holmes blinked at him, scanned his eye, and then shut down. Despite being unable to startle him into wakefulness, James nevertheless closed the cabinet door gently and walked as quietly as he could back into the living room.

Alec was spread across the couch, having taken the space James had vacated, and James contentedly sat on the floor next to Alec’s head, picking up his glass and sipping it gingerly.

“I fuckin’ love Holmes,” Alec said, grinning at James, pillowing his head on his elbow. “I didn’t know playing chess with a robot would be so much fun. Usually it’s so boring playing against a CPU, but I think it’s better because you can see him.”

James nodded his assent and grinned. “He has a personality, too,” he said. “Now you see why I love him so much.”

Alec nodded, too. “Yeah, I do,” he said, and he peered up at James through his lashes. “Your boy did well.”

James snorted, looking at his feet on the floor. “He’s not my anything,” he replied, his voice a little flat.

“And why not?” Alec asked. James groaned, reaching for his glass again, but Alec grasped his wrist firmly. James met his eyes, and Alec didn’t even blink. There wasn’t any accusation in his gaze, merely curiosity, and a bit of sternness as well.

“You know why not,” James said, pulling his wrist away gently. Alec let him go. “It’s too dangerous, it wouldn’t work out, I’m too fucked up, he isn’t interested—take your pick.”

Alec snorted, propping himself up on his elbow. “What a load,” he mumbled, and James shot him a glare, which only made him grin. “Pretty sure he already knows about the danger part—everyone at MI6 knows about that incident—and as for you being fucked up, I highly doubt it’s not something he already knows. You live together for fuck’s sake; he was going to figure something out sooner or later. And he clearly has some idea of who you are, so there’s that bullet on your checklist crossed out.”

James looked at his feet, not liking where this was going. He would’ve reached for his drink, but he had a feeling Alec wasn’t going to let him anywhere near it now that they were having this conversation.

“And as for the rest,” Alec continued, sounding more sober than he had any right to, “I get your trepidations. I get how you’re feeling about this, okay? It’s not easy, figuring this out. I know you’re trying to do the admirable thing and be responsible, but have you ever just stopped to think about what _he_ might want? Have you ever asked him if any of this bothers him, or did you do that thing you do where you demand he gets out while the getting is good because according to you, ‘no sane human could possibly want this?’”

James didn’t meet his eyes. “Ah,” Alec said, like that was all the answer he needed. “I thought as much.”

“Because it’s true,” James retorted, looking up at him. Alec looked peaceful and sensible, and James wanted to bludgeon him with the laptop. Or the bottle of scotch. “Nobody should look at me, look at this life, and think anything good could come out of it. Anyone who does is just asking for trouble.”

“Some people like to live dangerously,” Alec replied matter-of-factly, and James glared at him fiercely. “Haven’t you ever thought that maybe you’re worth it? Worth all this weird shit? It’s not like he can’t handle himself, anyway—how many break-ins was it, fourteen?”

“Seventeen,” James groused, and Alec actually laughed.

“Holy shit,” Alec replied through his giggles. “See, he’s more than capable of handling himself. He knows the immediate risks, has assessed them, and ta-da. He’s still here.” He laid his head back down, never taking his eyes off James as he did so. “You clearly adore him. It’s practically written all over your face when someone mentions him.” James flinched.

Alec grew quiet for a moment, before speaking very softly. “I know it’s not your strong suit,” he said gently. “You’re having a hard time forgiving yourself for what happened in the past. You don’t want to risk it again.” James wrapped his arms around his shins, drawing his knees closer to his chest. “If you don’t think I understand that, then you’re being an ass on purpose. Our lives as agents are not guaranteed. We knew that when we walked into this.” Alec glanced down at the couch. “I’m no optimist—on the contrary, I expect to die before fifty. But maybe we shouldn’t take that as a sign to distance ourselves from the things we want. Life is short and fleeting, as all those poets say, and for us, it’s decided by the day. Maybe we should take that as a reason to chase the things we want all the more. Maybe we should take that as a reason to give it a chance.” He looked up at James, and gave him a small smile. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll work out.”

James stared off into the middle distance between his feet and the door. Alec kept watching him, tilting his head a little. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” James said, feeling a cold wave of dread wash over him at the admittance, as if he’d summoned something to them by saying it out loud. Nevertheless, he continued. “Very much, I think.”

“Why not give it a try, then?” Alec asked softly.

“I doubt it’s requited,” James said, smirking, but it was hollow. “In case you haven’t noticed, Alec, I’m a bit of a mess.”

“While that may be true,” Alec said, earning a small huff of laughter from James, “have you ever considered that what he feels may not be what you think he feels? For all you know, he could secretly believe you’re a lemming.” He smiled, but it fell just as quickly. “In all seriousness, you’ll never know for sure until you ask him.” There was a quiet moment, and then Alec touched James on the shoulder, getting his attention. “Promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

James watched him for a moment, only finding earnestness in his features. He nodded minutely.

Alec nodded back, dropping his arm and sitting up slowly, gingerly getting to his feet. “I ought to fuck off now,” he said. “I’m getting tired and I don’t want to crash here. Don’t know the layout well enough.” He turned to face James, giving him a smile. “You going to be alright?”

“It’s my bloody flat,” James replied, coming slowly to a stand as well. “I should think so.”

“I was just asking,” Alec replied, and he walked toward the door. James followed him a few steps.

“You going to be alright getting home?” he asked, and Alec turned to him, nodding.

“I walked here; I’m pretty sure I can walk back to mine from here as well,” Alec replied. “Thanks for the merriment, and tell Holmes I’ll get him yet.”

“Thanks for the scotch,” James replied. “I’ll give you Holmes’s account information for that website so you can challenge him.” Alec smiled at him.

“I’d like that,” Alec said as he opened the door, shrugging on his coat as he did so. He sloppily saluted James, who just grinned at him. “You have a good night, James,” he said.

“You too,” James replied, and he watched him walk down the hall to the elevator before closing the door, putting his back to it and examining the apartment.

The apartment felt empty, as it always did when Q was gone, and this time, there wasn’t much of a remedy for it. So instead, he headed toward the couch, intending to check his phone for any updates from MI6.

He instead ended up lying down, his heavy limbs curling around a throw pillow Alec had conjured up from somewhere, and he fell asleep where Alec was once lying.

(~~~~)

The front door opened quietly just past two in the morning, and there were a few stunted seconds of silence before it closed, a lot more slowly and a lot quieter than it had opened. James was awake the second he heard the key in the lock, but he was still a little drunk, and there was only one person who he was expecting at two in the morning who would use a key to get inside. He didn’t move, instead allowing the haze of sleep to grasp at him again, slowly falling back under.

Soft footsteps padded closer to him, and a gentle weight pressed against the back of the couch. “Silly man,” he heard the voice he loved gently murmur, and something warm gently fell over him, covering him from head to toe. Contentment wound its lazy way through him, and he sighed a little.

His sigh was answered by one in turn, closer to him than it was before. “What am I going to do with you?” the voice whispered.

“Keep me,” he wanted to say, but scotch and sleepiness pulled at him, so he said nothing.

A gentle chuckle permeated the silence, and a slightly chilled hand touched his shoulder. “Sleep well, James,” he murmured softly, and then he was gone, and James was swallowed by the gentle lull of sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> Could you believe Rihanna helped me write the angsty James bits?
> 
> I sense another part in our near future.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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